


Red's Robin

by LectorEl



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Jason is an impulsive little shit, M/M, Talia's surrogate brats, Tim is a creepy little stalker, What else is new?, since Damian isn't a thing in this verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I was re-watching Under the Red Hood, and it struck me that Jason is, well, weirdly well organized. In the comics, his plans seem to amount to ‘cause trouble until daddy pays attention’, to be honest. Movie Jason, meanwhile, has a complex, multipart plan based on predicting Black Mask’s and Batman’s reactions, spying and infiltration, and manipulation of gang politics. Which is… not really what I thought was Jason’s style. That’s closer to what Tim would do. And hey, there has to be a reason he didn’t go to Dick after Batman starting going off the rails.</p><p>Conclusion: Jason has a Robin, and his name is Tim. </p><p>***</p><p>“On to plan B then?” Robin asked, mostly rhetorically. His voice was scathing. “Which, by the way, had better not include another suicide clause, Partner of Mine.” It was fucking adorable, the way the kid could turn the most innocent phrase into a threat of vile, bloody death. Slightly less cute when he was wielding needle and thread near delicate bits of his anatomy, but still. Fucking adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting to Know You

The kid - The kid was way too fucking calm for someone abducted in the middle of the goddamn night.

“Jason, do you have an extra blanket?” The kid asked, appearing at his elbow from fucking nowhere, and Jesus-fucking-Christ, he should not be able to do that. Jason was trained by fucking _Batman_. Big-eyed thirteen year old civilians should not be able to sneak up on him in his own goddamn hideout. The kid’s mouth twitched a little in what Jason’s quickly learning is his version of a smirk.

“You did that on purpose,” Jason accused, trying to hide his approval. The kid gave a stilted little smile, cocking his head in acknowledgement.

“Blanket?” The kid reminded him. Jason rolled his eyes, and dug out the ragged afghan he’d picked up at the Salvation Army store.

“Thank you.” The kid paused, staring at Jason from the corner of his eye. “You’ll explain what’s going on in the morning, right?” Hell. He’d kidnapped a crazy boy. That was the only possible explanation for why the kid was okay with this.

“Sure, kid.” Jason shrugged. The doors were locked and the windows had come with bars. It wasn’t like he’d be able to escape if the kid was just trying to lure him into a false sense of security. “I’m going to bed. Get some sleep.”

Several hours later, Jason woke up to the smell of coffee. Which was weird as hell, since he didn’t have a coffee maker.

“Are you awake now?” The kid nudged open the door to the bedroom, two mugs cradled between his arm and his chest.

“What. Just. What the fuck, kid?” Unless the kid had freaking magic, the only way he’d be able to get coffee was by leaving. And if he could get _out_ of the apartment when Jason had locked it down, why the _hell_ had he come back instead of running like somebody sane?

“I thought you’d like coffee…?” The kid trailed off uncertainly. Jason stared. Okay. So he was right, and he had totally kidnapped a crazy boy. Now he had to deal with it.

“Gimme.” It was going to be a long day.


	2. Unexpected Encounters

Tim worried at his lip. Batman still wasn’t okay. It’d been six months since Jason died, shouldn’t he be getting better? Even just a little? Tim’s parents probably wouldn’t remember his _name_ six months after his death. But Bruce Wayne could barely keep his face up in public, and Batman was still breaking bones over minor crimes. It was frightening.

Tim had been out all night, every night for the past three weeks. Since the night he saw Batman nearly kill a man. Tim shivered at the memory. The man _would_ have died if Tim hadn’t called 911. Since then, Tim hadn’t missed a single night. Somebody had to look out for Batman. Dick was gone and Jason was dead, and who did that leave but him?

Caught up in his thoughts, Tim tripped on a crack in the thin ledge and nearly took a tumble. He caught himself on the nearest Gargoyle and winced at the noise. He’d been making mistakes lately. He was too tired and stressed from school, Batman watching, and far too little sleep to function properly. Batman should have caught him a week and a half ago.

But Batman was making mistakes too. Tim flinched back further into the shadows at the newly familiar sound of breaking bone.

“Come on, Bruce,” He whispered under his breath. “That’s enough. It’s enough. He just a pot dealer. Nobody dangerous. You don’t need to do this. Stop. Please, Stop.” A series of sharp cracks, and a final growled threat, Batman took to the rooftops.

He was shaking, Tim realized. His hands were cramping from clinging to the gargoyle, but if he let go, his legs weren’t going to hold him. He’d fall.

This couldn’t last. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hide under his bed with the blankets and never come out. He wanted to never see Batman act like this again.

Tomorrow… Tomorrow he’d go to Dick. He’d have to take care of Bruce. Tim just couldn’t, anymore.

The decision felt like benediction. His anxiety drained away, leaving him calm, settled. He didn’t have to do this anymore. He just had to get through the night, and he was done. Tim smiled, suddenly wide awake. Just the night.

Using the gargoyle as a climbing hold, Tim carefully picked his way down to the ledge, and caught it with his fingers. He braced his feet against the wall, and shoved off. Just enough momentum to get caught in the sagging awning of the antique store three floors below. He’d seen Jason do this a few months before his death.

Tim dropped down from the awning to the alley, and ducked into Gotham’s labyrinth of back streets. Batman was most likely heading to the docks, and he’d learned a shortcut from watching Jason.

Tim hauled himself upward to the second story of the two buildings separating from the docks, and turned to edge through that final, narrow gap. And banged into somebody. He stumbled backwards and off the ledge, hitting his head hard against the lip of a dumpster.

“Shit!” The other boy swore, rushing down after him. He sounded…almost familiar. “Hell. Kid, are you okay?” Tim tried to speak, but all he managed was a pitiful sounding moan.

“Oh shit. Hell. Goddamn fuck!” Despite the panicked tone, the boy’s hands were gentle as he helped Tim sit up. “Kid? You with me? Look at me.”

At the command, Tim managed to focus his eyes. He blinked rapidly, but what he saw didn’t change.

“Jason?” It was. Nobody else looked like that. But. “You died. I saw you.”

Jason went dead white. “Fuck.”


	3. Four Year Interlude; or What the Robins Did

Tim nibbled at his lip. Three months of knowing the kid told Jason it meant he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure he should.

“You’ve got something to share, sweetheart?” Jason asked, ignoring the irritated glare Tim sent his way.

“There’s no windowless rooms,” Tim said, “and don’t call me sweetheart.”

“That a problem?” This was the fifth house they’d looked at in France alone, and this was the first time Tim had contributed _anything_.

“I was hoping I could have a dark room.” Tim twisted the hem off his shirt in his hands. “If that’s okay?”

Jesus Christ. He’d known the kid was screwed up, but he’d thought they were over this.

“I’m not-” _like your shitty parents_ , but that’s an argument Jason’s given up on having. “Sure, sweetheart.” Tim hit him.

***

They finally settled on a single story, one bedroom house with a finished basement. Talia had laughed when Jason told her what they wanted. She was far too amused by the entire situation with Tim. It didn’t help that Tim adored her.

“Then your little bird will be sleeping with you?” Talia asked. She was smiling behind her cup of expresso, watching Tim talk earnestly with the café’s owner.

“He’s thirteen.” Jason hid his face in his hand. “Please quit implying I’m fucking him.” Talia smiled and said nothing. In the background, Tim blushed and shook his head. The owner laughed and slid an extra scone onto Tim’ plate, waving off his attempt to pay.

“The people are nice here,” Tim said as he took his seat. He passed Jason an orange-cranberry scone, and Talia a sea salt and rosemary, keeping the cinnamon raisin ones for himself.

“Charming young foreigners often find that to be true,” Talia said agreeably. Tim blushed and murmured thanks. Jason did _not_ kick her. He was seventeen, and could control himself.

“How long can we stay here?” Tim asked.

Talia smiled at him indulgently. “I see no reason why you two couldn’t make it a permanent base.”

“There a range anywhere around here?” Jason tapped at the table impatiently. “I need to improve my gun skills.”

“That can be arranged for,” Talia promised. She raised an elegant eyebrow. “And you, Timothy?”

“Cryptography and acrobatics, if possible.” Tim hummed contemplatively. “And accounting.”

“Accounting, babybird?” Jason asked.

“I have no experience budgeting for a vigilante operation, and I doubt,” Tim hesitated over which name to use, “Bruce covered that with you either.”

“Very wise,” Talia agreed. “I can acquire tutors for you both.”

***

_Four years later_

“Jason!” Tim hollered up the stairs, “Have you seen my 16mm film?”

“Check the shelf below the toner!” Jason shouted back distractedly. Where the hell did he leave the ammo box for the eight calibers? He checked in the back of the closet, tossing another one of Tim’s jackets into the open suitcase as he did. (Seriously, how many jackets did the kid need? Especially army surplus jackets?)

“I did already!” Jason spied the box under the bed, and pulled it out, dropping it into the weapons’ case.

“Try behind the primer, then!” He scanned the bedroom for anything he missed, finding several pairs of socks, two of Tim’s thumb drives, and his second favorite knife. “Have you seen my favorite knife?”

“In the bathroom, Jason!” Tim said, followed by a series of heavy thumps of a suitcase being dragged up a set of stairs. A final thump, and Tim leaned into the bedroom.

“You want to bring the kitchen stuff?”

Jason groaned at the thought of more packing. “Screw it. You can buy replacements in Gotham.”

“I can buy it?” Tim asked archly. He sat down on the floor and started repacking their suitcase.

“Come on, babybird, it’s not like you don’t do all the cooking _anyway_.” Jason replied distractedly, fishing the last few loose bullets out from under the bed.

“And I can stop just as easily.”

Jason backpedaled hastily. “I’ll help set up your new darkroom?”

“I’ll think about it.”


	4. Family Time

Robin hangs the long cape of his uniform by the door and wearily untied his thick-treaded boots. The boots are placed under a narrow table that lines the hall, next to Jason’s. His gauntlets go on top of the table, along with his mask, belt, and R-shurikens. He pulls off the dark over tunic, folding it carefully and placing it on the shelves built into the wall. Finally, he empties out the pockets of the Kevlar blend cargo pants and shucks them off, putting them on the shelf next to his tunic.

Tim sighs and pulls on one of Jason’s t-shirts over his boxers and pads further into their base. He’ll be nursing the bruises from tonight for a while. Worth it, though. Black Mask’s trying to reclaim the territory he’s lost to Jason while Red Hood’s still out of the game. Robin needed to draw a strong line so the dealers under their control don’t spook.

“How’s your day going, Jay?” Tim asked, dropping into bed beside his seated partner.

Jason growls. “Poorly,” He says, jabbing angrily at his laptop. Tim giggles, and rests his head in Jason’s lap.

“The paperwork’s only the first layer of my revenge,” Tim informs Jason sleepily. “You just wait.”

“Mean, Babybird. I’m telling Talia on you.”

“Mmm.” Tim nuzzles closer to Jason, “She-” yawn, “loves me best.”

“Does not.” Jason absentmindedly twines his fingers into Tim’s hair. Tim smiles tiredly.

“Shh. Sleeping.”

***

Tim wakes up to the smell of cardamom and coriander. He stretches luxuriously. Pulling on his robe, he walks into the kitchen.

“Good afternoon, Timothy,” Talia greets him from the kitchen table. Which is much cleaner than his blurry memories from last night insists it should be.

“Made Jason clean up?” Tim asks, leaning down to hug her. He glances into the oven window. “Is that spice cake? I didn’t know you cooked.”

“It is,” Talia laughs. “Jason complained about being grievously abused. If nothing else, your vocabulary is rubbing off on him.”

Tim smiles fondly. “Good to know.” He fills the electric kettle and turns it on. “Would you like some tea?”

“If you haven’t finished off the Jasmine you had the last time I visited.”

“I think we have some.” Tim rifles though the overhead cabinets until he found the canister. Two teaspoons of tea measured out into twin tea balls, Tim fills both mugs with hot water and carries them over to the table.

“How are you doing?” Tim asks.

Talia allows herself a short sigh. “It’s just that time of year again. It encourages pointless speculation.” Tim nods sympathetically. The baby would have turned ten next month.

“If you need anything…” Tim offers.

Talia smiles softly, and shakes her head. “It’s enough that I have you two.”

“We’re the ones lucky to have you.”

***

Jason might have felt a little unholy glee at the prospect of introducing Talia to his cowed gang leaders. Just a little. But you know you’re feeling the same, _so shut up Tim_.

“I haven’t said anything.” Tim smirks, leaning on the railing to watch Talia terrify a dozen of the city’s most dangerous men and women into submission.

“You’re thinking it, don’t lie.” Jason whistles in admiration as Talia snaps the fingers of a particularly impertinent man.

“Maybe~” Tim drawls. He twitches his cape over his shoulders. “Should we help?”

“And ruin her fun?” Jason shakes his head.

Talia pauses on the floor and raised an eyebrow in their direction. “Will my sons be joining me?” She summons them with an imperious gesture of her hand.

“On the other hand…” Tim says. He looks at Jason. Jason looks at him.

“Geronimo.” They drop off the walkway.


	5. The Morning After the Night Before

Tim perched on the arm of the safe house’s shitty sofa, sipping daintily at his fourth cup of coffee. Apparently the kid ran on the stuff. Jason’s on his second, curtsey of the coffee maker the kid somehow managed to acquire, drag back here, and set up while he was sleeping.

Jason’s trying not to think about it. The logistics of it alone make his brain hurt, and trying to picture how the kid got it up the balcony is an exercise in frustration.

“Just, seriously kid. The freaking balcony? We’re on the twelfth floor.”

Tim blinked, tilted his head to side slightly. “What’s wrong with climbing down the balcony? You did it all the time.”

“I’m a trained vigilante. You’re a thirteen year civi who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Jason felt compelled to point out. He’s not even going to mention the part about getting back up to the balcony with a six pound square box in tow. Talking to the kid was like watching a train wreck. Every moment was horrifying, yet you couldn’t look away.

“A hundred and thirteen, actually.” Tim’s got a hell of a poker face. The muffled giggle at Jason’s irritated grumble gives him away, though.

“You are fucking with me, aren’t you?” Jason accused.

“A little.” Tim set his mug down and stretched. He had a hell of a lot of flexibility for a civilian. Which could be useful… Jason caught where his thoughts were going and strangled them. No recruiting the crazy kid. Talia wouldn’t be happy with him, and anyway, it was a terrible idea.

“Why _aren’t_ you dead, Jason?” Tim hugged one leg to his chest. It made him look even younger than he was. Fuck. Jason had kidnapped a thirteen year old. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. What the hell was he supposed to do with this kid?

“Long story.” Jason eyed the kid. “The fact that you made me while I was in uniform’s a little more worrying.”

Tim honest-to-god blushed. “I’m, ah, a fan of your work. I watched sometimes…?” His voice trailed into a question.

“You were stalking Batman last night,” Jason said flatly, doing his best to smother the panic he felt at the realization. Civilian should not be able to stalk Batman. They just shouldn’t.

“And you’ve been stalking us for how long again, kid?” Jason asked. Tim winced.

“Ah. Three years. Um. And Dick for a year. Before that.” Tim said quietly, hunching in on himself.

“Hell, ki- Tim. I’m not mad at you, okay?” Jason didn’t allow himself to think about before he pulled the kid back against his chest, hugging him. The kid was so small. So small and so scared, and who was letting Tim run around unsupervised at night, in _Gotham_? What the hell was _wrong_ with them?

Tim stiffened at the contact, anxiety in every line of his body. “Are you… hugging me?” And the sheer fucking confusion in his voice, like he wasn’t even sure what a hug was, made Jason want to hit somebody.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I am. You’re going to have to live with it.” Jason had terrible suspicions about the sort of life that created a crazy, fucked up kid like Tim, and he didn’t like them at all.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Tim said. But he gradually relaxed into Jason’s hold, hesitantly laying his head back on Jason’s shoulder. The thrill of warmth Jason felt at that gesture should probably be worrying him. Instead, Jason shifted them so he was lying back against the couch arm, Tim cradled against him.

There was no fucking way he was letting Tim go back to wherever-the-hell he came from. None. Jason had another two weeks in Gotham before Talia came to pick him up. Plenty of time to find somebody that would be better at taking care of Tim than whatever miserable failure had the job right now.


	6. Mockingbird

“Oh shit,” The young man swore, scrambling backwards away from the bat. “You can’t do this man, Red’ll have my head if I lose the files.” He clutched his precious burden tighter in his fist, backing up till he hit the alley’s dead end.

“Not my problem,” Batman growled, stalking after him.

“Well, it kinda is now,” A cheerful voice interrupted. A red cloaked figure dropped from the rooftop to catch the fire escape, and swung down till he could sit comfortably on the guardrail of the lowest balcony. “Give’em here, Danny-boy.”

‘Danny’ tossed the thumb drive upwards, and the boy in red snatched it out of the air. He tucked it into a pouch on his belt with a jaunty, mocking salute at Batman.

“Thank you kindly, Danny. We do so appreciate it when our couriers go above and beyond.” The boy in red grinned infectiously. “How’s the baby, by the way?”

Danny had completely relaxed, and was now smiling back at his assistant. “She’s doing great, spookybird. Said her first word a week ago.”

“Oh?” The boy leaned foreword until only his grip on the rail kept him from falling. “C’mon, share with your friendly neighborhood nightmare. Details!” Both of them continued to ignore Batman until his growling became audible.

“Oops,” The boy said without a trace of sincerity. “Time for you to go, Danny. Talk to you later.” He vaulted off the balcony, dropping the ladder as he did so. Danny wasted no time getting up it and into the apartment building.

“So, tall, dark and creepy, why are you stalking our perfectly innocent couriers?” The boy cocked his head to the side mockingly, the tattered hood falling away from his head.

Black hair framed a narrow, pale face, smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The boy’s upper face was hidden by a spiked red domino, white-out lenses hiding his eyes. Batman’s eyes narrowed behind his cowl.

“Who are you?” He demanded, backing the boy into a blind corner. “Who are you working for?”

“Hmmmm,” The boy hummed mock-thoughtfully. “Lets see. Not gonna tell you to the first. As for the second, I’ll give you a hint. His name starts with Red, and he really hates little red riding hood jokes. Three guesses and the first two don’t count.” He cocked his chin up defiantly, meeting Batman’s gaze.

“Red Hood.” Batman said grimly.

The boy applauded sarcastically. “Congratulations, truly the rumors of your towering intellect were well founded.”

“You’re trying to antagonize me,” Batman realized.

“No _shit_ , Sherlock. You blew up my freaking boss. Makes a body angry.” The boy paused, and smiled, soft and happy, completely different from the other expression Batman had seen on his face. “Oh look. My ride’s here.”

A flashbang whited out the alley. Batman felt the tail-end of the boy’s cape as he ducked under the bat’s arm and raced for the alley’s mouth

“See you around, Creepy!” The boy called back, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danny-the-courier ends up a recurring character in this, because he grew a personality and is adorable. I'd say I'm sorry, but since I'm not -


	7. Two of a Kind

Talia looked askance at Jason, and then at Tim, who was hiding in his shadow.

“His parents are idiots,” Jason said defensively, half hunching his shoulders. “Somebody needs to look out for him.”

“Of course,” Talia told him, tone making it very clear that she thought that Jason was full of shit, but she wouldn’t call him on it. Tim giggled a little. **_Little traitor_** , Jason thought, without heat.

“Aren’t you adorable,” Talia cooed, coaxing Tim out of Jason’s shadow. Tim shuffled foreword hesitantly, nibbling on his lip anxiously, before abruptly shifting to his public mask.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Talia,” Tim said politely, no trace of his previous worry in his voice. Talia gave Jason a _look_ over Tim’s head. Jason shrugged, trying to convey ‘ ** _I told you he had issues_** ’ without speaking,

“Good to meet you as well, Timothy,” Talia said warmly, eliciting a blush from Tim. Jason stomped down hard on the curl of jealously that provoked. “Jason’s told me about you.”

“Oh!” Tim blushed redder, eyes fixing on the tops of his shoes. “That’s…” Words seemed too fail him, and he glanced back at Jason longingly. **_Good boy_** , some fucked up part of Jason purred. Jesus Christ. He was _not_ going to perv on the loneliest little rich boy of Gotham. He just wasn’t. He was not going to be that sick fuck eying a middle school student. Not.

“Talia’s cool,” Jason forced himself to say. Talia was, in fact, a mean, mean daughter of a bastard, but Tim didn’t need to know that. “You’ll like her.” And that wasn’t even a little bit of a lie, since Tim was practically Talia’s younger, less confident, opposite sex clone.

“I hear you gave our mutual acquaintance quite the scare,” Talia said in archly amused tones. She ignored Jason’s glare easily, which was seriously unfair. Jason had spent years refining the Robin-glare into a thing of beauty. She could at least pretend.

“He’s not very good at spatial awareness, is he?” Tim asked, voice gone decidedly bland. Talia shook her head solemnly.

“Not at all,” She agreed, pointedly not looking at Jason. “It must be horribly embarrassing.”

“Hey! What is this, pick on Robin day?” Jason demanded. Talia and Tim both glanced at him. Jason felt a shiver of premonition go down his spine.

“No,” Tim said sweetly. He looked up at Talia. “That’s next week, right?”

“I think we could fit it in,” Talia said with mocking thoughtfulness. “We’re not departing until Friday, after all.”

Jason mentally groaned. Of course they’d get on like a house on fire. How else would his luck go?


	8. Redistribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Danny-the-courier, because he's adorable.

Danny stifled a sigh and tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible while his boss and all the other gang leaders of the east end had their shouting match over what to do now that the Red Hood was out of commission.

A muffled, theatrical cough redirected attention from the shouting match up to ceiling, where a tiny figure in an oversized cloak perched on the walkway railing. Grinning. Danny cowered instinctively. Nothing good could come from somebody smiling at you like that.

“So!” The boy said, still grinning down at Danny’s bosses, a cheerful nightmare clad in bloody red. “As you might have guessed already, Red’s out of commission for a few weeks, and I’m taking over.”

“Robin.” Spite said flatly. She leaned back against the new wooden table, (The new, new wood table, because Red Hood had shot the old one to pieces, and broken the legs off the old new one.) reaching for her gun.

Danny, having heard what happened the first time Robin had made introductions, wisely took several steps away from the table. A throwing knife pinned her hand to the table a few seconds later.

“Ouch,” Danny winced, reflexively tucking his hands close to his chest. Severed tendons were nasty business.

“Any other power plays to slap down, or can we get on to business?” The boy twitched the hood of his cape back, revealing pale, fine-boned features, his eyes and much of his upper face concealed behind a spiked red mask.

“When can we _ever_ just get on with business?” Danny heard himself say. Fuck. He was so, so dead. This was why he never got promoted at his other jobs.

The nightmare boy laughed and nodded to Danny. “I like you. Stick around after the meeting, would you?”

***

Tim rolled his eyes behind the white-out lenses of his mask, as a discussion of distribution channels devolved into yet another squabble over territory. These people ran the East End before Jason took over? No wonder it was such a mess.

“Five minutes to wrap up, then I decide distribution based on what I think would be funniest.” Tim grinned at the men and women below him, enjoying their suppressed twitches. He tapped his wrist. “Tick-tock, people. Clock’s a’ticking.”

It was amazing how quickly things got done when the threat of Robin was upon them. Tim wondered if it had been this fun for Jason.

Probably not, what with Batman’s general attachment to clear dividing lines between the criminal class and the enforcers of, if not law, then certainly order. Tim is _so_ glad he’s Jason’s Robin instead of Batman’s.

The discussion settled itself with moments to spare before Tim’s deadline, and he spares a moment to be grudgingly impressed. Everybody clears out the moment the deal is struck, minus the mouthy courier Tim had singled out earlier.

“You wanted to see me?” The man asked, voice admirably free of the terror visible in his tense body.

“Uh huh,” Tim agreed, shoving off the walkway to land in a graceful crouch atop the table. He sat himself down and held his hand out.

“Robin. And you would be?” The man swallowed and shook Tim’s hand.

“Danny, sir. Ah, Diego Lorenzo. You know, technically, but everybody calls me Danny. It’s a long story…” Danny trailed off.

Tim giggled. “Nice to meet you, Danny. How long have you been working for Cicatrize?”

“’bout a year,” Danny shrugged, relaxing a little as Tim did his best to look sweet and innocent. “Lost my job at the gas station, and we had a baby on the way. You know how it is.”

Tim did. He was learning, anyway. He didn’t much like it. Especially not for Cicatrize, who was vile, unpleasant man at the best of times.

“Interested in a job offer? I’ve got uses for a courier who can get around the city unnoticed,” Tim said, smiling beguilingly. He couldn’t help everybody, but one smart-mouthed courier was well within his range.

“Depends. What’s the pay like?” Danny asked, raising his eyebrows. Tim grinned internally. Score one for the cute and harmless act.

“Say, forty thousand a year?” Tim paused, and cocked his head to the side. “Plus health insurance?”

“Now I’m worried what you’ll have me running, Spookybird.” The man clapped his hand over his mouth at the last word, mortified horror in his eyes.

Tim half lost it laughing. “Oh, I like you! Now I have to keep you.” He giggled until his sides hurt, bracing himself against the table to keep from falling over. Danny approached gingerly and helped him to a free chair.

“You’re not one of those Arkham crazies, are you?” he asked, eying Tim warily. Tim swallowed back more giggles. It wasn’t _that_ funny, but it was such a relief to laugh after the tension of Jason’s hospital bed.

“I’m as sane as anybody in this town,” Tim assured, smirking. “For whatever that’s worth. Want the job?”

Danny sighed. “Oh, hell. It’s not like I wasn’t living dangerously already.”


	9. In-Laws

Robin dropped down, pulling his cape over his arm and throwing it up to catch Zsasz’s dagger. Praying futilely that the armored mesh on the inside would be enough to stop the blow.

It never came. Robin didn’t question his luck. He threw himself backwards, sweeping a handful of throwing knives out of his belt and tossing them at Zsasz, right over the head of his rescuer.

“Come on!” The man shouted, catching Robin’s hand and running. Robin hit the release latch on his cape, letting the heavy red garment drop off behind him.

“This way,” he told the other man urgently, tugging him into an alley, still going at a dead sprint. Robin jumped, catching the bottom rung of the fire escape. He clamored out of the way, turning to offer the man his hand. Just in time to see the man shoot a grapple at the balcony above him.

“That’s one solution, I suppose,” Robin snorted, and raced his way up after the man. They hit the roof within moments of each other. The man jerked his head towards the city center, and Robin nodded. Across the rooftops it was.

Fifteen minutes, and a mile and a half later, Robin leaned back against the outer wall of the roof access, not quite panting.

“Red’s going to have a fit when he hears about this,” Robin groaned. He looked up at his rescuer- a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a sweatshirt- and grinned at him. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem,” The man shrugged. He held out his hand. “Dick Grayson. You?”

“Robin.” He looked at Dick with growing suspicion. “Jason’s older brother Dick?” It was kind of funny to watch somebody actually give a full body twitch.

“That a yes?” Robin asked.

Dick grinned ruefully. “You’d be the one Batman was complaining about, aren’t you?”

“If it’s about last week, he started it,” Robin said, brushing dust off his black pants. He backed toward the edge of the roof, eying the street longingly. Dick darted forward and snatched his wrist.

“Let me go. _Now_ ,” Robin snarled. Dick made a soothing sound, holding up his free hand.

“As soon as you tell me how Jason’s doing. Promise,” He said, looking at Robin pleadingly. Robin stomped down on the adoring three year old inside him that wanted to please Dick more than anything. He was seventeen, in a committed, three year long relationship, and this was his boyfriend’s brother. So his irritatingly enduring crush could just **go away** already.

“Fine,” his traitor mouth said, without his input. Dick cheered immediately, and gave Robin a bone-crushing hug. Robin squawked and struggled out of the hold, immediately trying to finger comb his hair back into some semblance of neatness with his free hand.

“How is he? How badly was he hurt? Is he still in Gotham?” Dick asked in quick succession. Robin held up his hand to stem the flow of questions.

“Give me a chance to talk, geeze. Yes, he still in Gotham. He was pretty badly hurt, but he’s getting better,” Robin rolled his eyes. “Besides for his sulking over me withholding sex, anyway. That’s just getting worse.”

Dick choked on air. “Wait, you’re Jason _boyfriend_?”

Robin nodded patiently. “Our third anniversary is coming up soon.”

“Jason’s in a _committed_ relationship?” Dick asked. There was a speculative look in his eye. Robin tugged at the hold Dick had on his wrist futilely.

“I answered your questions, could you let me go already?” Robin demanded. Dick smiled at him.

“Oh no, little brother-in-law, not until you tell me all about how little wing managed to pull this one off.” Robin whimpered.

“Zsasz!” Robin shouted. The moment Dick loosened his grip, he turned and fled, heading for the east end at top speed.

It was only his imagination that Dick had shouted ‘This isn’t over’ at him. That was his story, and he was **sticking** with it.


End file.
